It’s Really Unattractive When…

Welcome to the newest episode of, “What I Should Have Said Was…”

I’ve been thinking a lot about pet peeves. For instance, I’ve gotten a lot of flack in my life about being a loud eater. People have rolled their eyes and whispered about me (or audibly complained) as I chewed my food at an apparently deafening volume. Well, I’m so sorry that’s bothering you, I really am, but telling someone to eat differently is like telling them to walk or breathe or sleep differently. It’s not a switch I can just turn on and off. As I reflected on this, I think I realized that pet peeves might be my pet peeve.

And also, jerks. Jerks are my pet peeve.

You ever have someone tell you that it’s really unattractive when you do something? Perhaps a friend or family member or a lover themselves. Not things like, “You were really rude to that server,” unattractive. But for doing simple, human things?

I’ve always thought it’s good to work on oneself. The older I get, the more I think that working on oneself is about harnessing the conviction to know who you are and what you want, and less about listening to the jerks. But when I was younger, I always listened to the jerks. I consumed that jerk feedback like it was delicious jerk chicken (loudly, apparently). This is where my actor training kicked in. I had a part to play, the part of lovuhhhh. And I wanted them to like me, to really like me!

I’ve always been told I take direction well. But it’s impossible to keep track of all of this! Eventually my options became either join the robothood or set this list on fire with a maniacal life and thunderous applause from my live studio audience.

So, for this post, I thought about some of the best, “It’s really unattractive…” comments I’ve gotten in the past. Some I took to heart; most I was just timid about. For the sake of catharsis, I am including the response I like to think I would give these days. Oh, beautiful hindsight!

It’s really unattractive when you get so clingy.
Well, it’s really unattractive when you act like I don’t deserve your time and attention.

It’s really unattractive when you don’t shave.
Well, it’s really unattractive that you want me to be as smooth as an eight-year-old. And it’s really unattractive that you think you can govern my hair.

It’s really unattractive that you dye your hair.
…It’s really unattractive that you think you can govern my hair.

It’s really unattractive that you’re a brunette.
IT’S REALLY UNATTRACTIVE THAT YOU THINK YOU CAN GOVERN MY HAIR.

It’s really unattractive when you drink.
It’s really unattractive when you try to control what I do with my time.

It’s really unattractive that you’re friends with so many guys.
It’s really unattractive that you check out every single woman who walks by.

It’s really unattractive when you act so apathetic.
It’s really unattractive that you and the rest of the world have told me not to have feelings.

It’s really unattractive when you wear makeup.
It’s really unattractive that you think you can govern my face.

It’s really unattractive that you watch so much TV.
It’s really unattractive that I have to resort to fictional characters to fulfill my emotional needs. You’re nothing next to Ben Wyatt.

Any readers out there have an, “It’s really unattractive…” moment? What did you say or wish you’d have said? I would love to hear from you.

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Being the Middle Child

All the middle children out there, can I get a what-what?

If one were to pose this question in a crowded room, the eyes of all the middle children would light up like fireflies in the night, each one attempting to bark the loudest what-what in the bunch. Their moment had finally come, their time to shine. And it wouldn’t even matter, because as they turn to face their parents, feeling like they will finally get the approval they so desperately crave, it will turn out that their parents were in the bathroom and missed the whole thing.

I have two brothers. One is two years older than me. He sings like Sinatra with perfect pitch to match, and my mother never misses an opportunity to mention that he aced his kindergarten entrance exams. The other is six years younger than me, and he’s really funny. Like you’re still thinking about how freaking clever that was two years later kind of funny. Then there’s me, in the middle. I am the girl. My defining personality trait is girl.

And I am SUCH a middle child.

By that, I mean I’m a perfectionist. My whole life, I’ve wanted to be the “most” something. Even if it did end up being the most painstaking or the most easily offended. I can’t always let things go easily. I am twenty-seven, and when I visited my family last weekend, someone attributed this vaguely funny line I’d said many years ago to my younger brother. Because he’s the funny one so he must have said the funny thing. Makes sense. This is not a problem on any scale; it doesn’t mean jack. But guys, I WAS SO SENSITIVE ABOUT IT! I wanted to climb on the roof and yell until I bled.

When I found out I was going to be a big sister, I was pretty excited. But that excitement wasn’t really reflected in those around me: you know, people spouting worldly wisdom about what it means to be a big sister. Instead, I would get statements about being the middle child. People would try to convince me that being the middle child is great. “Like the cream in the middle of the Oreo cookie,” they always said, “the best part.”

Couldn’t help but notice no one felt the need to convince my older brother with similes! No one was telling him being the oldest was like fine wine or something.

Because of this, I felt like I had to figure out what it meant to be the middle child, philosophically. I would ask my parents, I would ask God, what was this plight that had been bestowed upon me? Why had I been chosen?

As with all questions, I turned to TV for my answers. I started off with Family Matters and Happy Days: shows where the middle child started off as the protagonist, and then they realized two children made for better comedy. Abruptly, one child was gone and the middle was not the middle anymore. Not off to a great start!

But then, you’ve got your Jan Bradys, your Stephanie Tanners, your Cory Matthews…s. I saw myself in these characters: their unsureness, their constant searching for their special talent and place in the universe, their lack of star quality. That was ME!

This only made my searching fiercer, my need to overachieve more real. Surely, there was something out there for me, something that would make me special. I imagined everything, from figure-skating to shot-put to a genius-level IQ. Maybe teaching animals how to play chess. Ballroom dance. I think sometimes I created such a vivid imaginary life for myself that it almost started to seem real.

I just took a minute off from writing to unpack that loaded-ass statement. Guys, that’s why I wanted to be an actress. It’s all starting to make sense now! Thank you, blog!

Sometimes it takes a couple decades of life experience to realize that the middle may just be exactly where you belong. After all, it is the most awkwardly stigmatized birth order. There’s a lot of cool stuff about being in the middle, perhaps even cooler than Oreo cream. There’s vision, independence, originality! There’s a power to the middle (as long as you ignore Jenga principles).

And as Sue Heck, my favorite TV middle child, said in her series finale, “The middle is the best place to be. You’ve got love on both sides.”

Maker:L,Date:2017-8-29,Ver:5,Lens:Kan03,Act:Kan02,E-Y
This picture would be better if I were actually in the middle, but my siblings and I only take a picture roughly once every seven years.